


the long way home

by renawitch



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Abandonment, Blood, Captivity, Crusades, Desert, Escape, Heroism, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Immortals, Injury, Torture, Trapped, Whump, surrender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renawitch/pseuds/renawitch
Summary: Nicolo has had enough of the holy land. He only wants to take the ship back home.On his way to Antioch, he is forced as a deserter to avoid the Crusader states and travel through the Caliphate of Damascus.A dangerous way through enemy territory.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	1. trapped

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise, but English is not my mother tongue.  
> I hope this one is still halfway decent to read.

The sun burned hot and mercilessly down on him.  
He only felt from afar how the leather straps of his shackles cut deep into the skin of his wrists. Blood dripped from his fingertips onto the dry clay floor.  
His head roared. He felt as if his whole body was on fire.  
Frenzied pain pulsed over him whenever he moved.

Someone shook his hip gently. Nicolo groaned tiredly, barely able to open his eyes.  
The shaking became more emphatic. The boy just did not stop.  
"La", one of the few Arabic words he knew, wrenched itself from his throat. "La - No", he whispered again.  
The boy did not give in. The crusader was startled and winced as cool water poured down his neck in a thin trickle.  
At last he could open his eyes, blinking strained into the glaring brightness that surrounded him.  
He was hardly able to see anything. The sunlight dazzled him too much, after he had been dimming in the darkness behind his eyelids for hours. With infinite effort, he managed to lift his head.  
Someone emphatically held something to his lips and whispered the same word, as so often in the last few days.  
"Yashrab - drink."  
Nicolo shook his head weakly but could not prevent his lips from opening involuntarily to drink the water the boy offered him.  
His mind quickly cleared up again. Carefully he took care not to choke, not to waste any of the precious liquid or even to draw the guards' attention to himself.  
When the clay jar was taken from his lips, he whispered a fragile "Shukraan - Thank you" to the boy.  
He was still too weak to keep his head upright and collapsed without strength. Only the shackles still held him upright.  
He got a fright when he noticed that one of his guards turned around and stepped a few steps towards him. 

Bassem, it went through his head. His first thought was of the boy.  
He was too weak to warn him. Any of his movements would only cause the guards to pay more attention. Nicolo fervently hoped that Bassem had not been discovered and that he had left.  
That it was as he hoped was confirmed when the warrior stepped in front of him, grabbed Nicolo's hair roughly, bent his head back at a painful angle and forced him to look him in the face.  
Nicolo moaned in pain. Even if he had wanted to, he would not have been able to withstand the soldier's gaze. Already his eyes fell closed again.  
Even with Bassem's desperate help, his death would not be long in coming.  
Dying of thirst, it occurred to him for a moment, before he lost consciousness again, would be by far the worst of all his previous deaths.

It took Yusuf three days to get back to near Aleppo. Even though he had the support of the caliphate's inhabitants, he was more than displeased when he reached the camp far outside the city.  
The battle for Jaffa was three weeks behind and the pitiful remnants of the surviving warriors waited for Yusuf's return under Karim's leadership near Aleppo to find out how far they could count on support from Damascus.  
The news he had to share with them would not please Karim at all. Damascus would not send any more warriors to reclaim the city for the time being, as every available warrior was needed near Jerusalem.  
The men would therefore have to move south and join the armies at the holy city.  
When Yusuf reached the camp, he learned that Karim was not expected back for three days. He stayed in Aleppo, where he also supported their cause.  
Yusuf knocked the fine dust from his clothes and saddled his horse. When he brought the animal to the others, his attention was drawn to a prisoner. The man knelt down on his knees in front of pure big pine tree. Both hands were on his back and tied to the trunk of the tree, the long blond hair was stringy, full of blood and prevented a look at his face.  
He frowned questioningly. Blond hair? A Christian, perhaps? He caught up with the man's guards.  
"Who is that?" he asked rudely, pointing to the prisoner as he caught up with the men who greeted him respectfully.  
"We picked him up in Sughra, Lord. Three days ago a crusader troop raided the place. He was one of them."  
Yusuf approached the man, scrutinised him critically.  
"Why didn't you kill him?"  
The man took a deep breath and shook his head disapprovingly. "Two villagers were fighting for the Frank."  
"And?" Yusuf asked indifferently.  
"It was the eldest and his son."  
"And now we are going to let him die of thirst here?" Yusuf asked doubtfully, surrounded the man and cast a sceptical glance at his bloody wrists.  
The guard shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "Orders from Karim, Lord. This one killed five of our men before we could overpower him."  
Yusuf nodded knowingly, crouched down and reached into the Franconian's hair. As he bent his head back, his eyes widened in disbelief.  
"Nicolo", the name escaped him involuntarily. "Untie him. Bring him to my tent and see that he doesn't die," he ordered harshly.  
"Lord, but Karim..."  
"Karim's not here and as long as he is, I'm guiding you, aren't I?"  
"Yes, Lord," replied the guard, hurrying to call the other man by the fire. Together they made sure that Yusuf's instructions were followed.

He woke up lying on his back with his hands tied in front of him. The sun seemed to have disappeared. The heat of the day had died down, as had the glaring brightness.  
Everything on his body ached. Even breathing was difficult for him. And suddenly he felt someone put something cool on his forehead and groaned in agony.  
"Foolish Christian", someone was shouting at him angrily in Greek. "What are you still doing here? You should be in Antioch or on your way to your own country by now."  
The voice was strangely familiar to him, but Nicolo could not identify it. With difficulty, he managed to turn his head. He was lying on a bed of fine cloth, obviously in a tent. The Saracen, a few steps away, turned to him with an angry expression.  
"Yusuf?"  
"Yes, Yusuf", the warrior confirmed. "What, by all the demons, has come over you, as a Christian warrior, to travel alone and without a guide through the Caliphate of Damascus?"  
The Saracen, whom he had faced just a few weeks ago with Jaffa, shook his head angrily. Nicolo could hardly believe that he met him here again after hours of vain attempts to kill each other. At some point it dawned on both of them that it must have been pointless to want to kill the other, because the enemy simply didn't die. It was Yusuf, who was the first to put his saber aside and try a dialogue. The fact that both spoke Greek had made communication with each other much easier.  
"Antioch," whispered Nicolo resignedly. "I cannot travel there through the crusader states. I am a deserter, Yusuf."  
His enemy's response was an angry snort. Nevertheless he handed him a clay bowl filled with fresh water. Nicolo reached for it with his hands tied.  
"What do you think would have happened if someone had noticed that you cannot die?"  
The crusader emptied the bowl in one go.  
"No one knows about it", he looked around questioningly and lifted the bowl pleadingly so that Yusuf could fill it with water again. "Why am I in this tent?"  
"I don't know exactly yet myself", Yusuf returned. "I have yet to figure out how to justify not letting you die of thirst. What happened in this village?"  
Nicolo, tired, lowered his head, but sat up afterwards. His body regenerated quickly. Something that he probably owed to Yusuf's intervention and the liquid he was offered.  
"On the way to Antioch, I hid in order not to attract attention. I only made slow progress. Three days ago, I sought refuge in an abandoned stable outside this place. In the evening I heard the noise of the battle and when I left the stable I saw that one of the men was about to kill this boy.  
Yusuf groaned in disbelief and closed his eyelids for a moment.  
"So I drew my sword and fell into his arm."'  
"You raised your sword against your brothers to save a Moorish boy?" the mockery in Yusuf's voice was hard to ignore.  
"You are not only a deserter but also a traitor to your own kind."  
Nicolo chewed his lower lip fiercely.  
"These criminals are not my brothers and I have betrayed no one," he growled angrily. "In the course of the battle, this troop of warriors appeared. They were killing the bandits, indeed," he looked down doubtfully at himself. "Look at me, Yusuf, that I am a stranger in your land cannot be ignored. They concentrated their attack on me after they had killed the others and I had no choice but to defend myself. It was the boy and his grandfather who made sure I was not killed."

The Saracen took a deep breath and nimbly rubbed a hand over his eyes.  
"You don't know what this means to you, Nicolo. You have killed five warriors. Karim, the leader of this troop, is bound by his word given to the elder. He may not kill you, but he may let you die.  
The Christian nodded knowingly. "That out there was my execution, wasn't it?"  
Yusuf nodded pitifully. "I cannot stop it. Karim has the right on his side and I have no power to do anything about it. Before he returns, you will have to wait for death out there again."  
Nicolo closed his eyes, dejected and nodded knowingly. This was not the rescue we had hoped for, just a breathing space for him.  
"Yusuf, I ask you a favour. You must do something for me", the warrior raised an eyebrow sceptically and looked at the prisoner sceptically as Nicolo continued.  
"The boy, Bassem. He puts himself in great danger. You must make him understand that he owes me nothing."  
An unspoken question stood between them, which Nicolo answered without being asked.  
"He must stop trying to help me. He steals bread from the guards and secretly brings me water."  
"If the men catch him," Yusuf began thoughtfully, but Nicolo interrupted him gruffly.  
"Yusuf, I beg you. That's all I ask of you."  
"No, you ask much more than that, Nicolo. You have no idea how much. I'll take care of the boy and make sure you die faster than usual. I will see to it that your dead body is taken away to Antioch, and in return I demand that you abide by the agreement we made with Jaffa three weeks ago. I never want to see you here again. Not here, not in the Crusader states, not anywhere near these lands. Do you understand?"  
Nicolo nodded in agreement.  
"If you get into trouble, I will not see to it that you escape unscathed. If they catch you and realize that you cannot die, my friend, I swear to you, your path will lead you forever into the slavery of the caliphs. Do you understand that, Christian?"  
Nicolo swallowed dryly and nodded in agreement again.  
"Get up," the warrior ordered harshly and drew his dagger. "It's time to take you back."  
With a quick cut, he cut Nicolo's bonds. Immediately, the deep cuts on his wrists began to close. The prisoner frowned questioningly. "You will untie me?"  
"No, I will not. Quite the opposite. What do you think," Yusuf replied angrily, "is the only possible justification for a commander to order a prisoner of war into his tent alone?"  
With a short jerk, he tugged at Nicolo's tunic, which tore with an ugly noise across his back. He grabbed him roughly by the forearm, relentlessly bent his arm back, and with a few hand movements leather straps were once again painfully around Nicolo's wrists.  
"Revenge is the only reason most warriors understand", he looked the knight pitifully into his eyes. "I'm sorry," he wrestled himself before punching the bound prisoner so hard in the face that his lip split open and blood dripped from his chin. Even before he realised what the Saracen was trying to do, he received another blow that broke his nose with an ugly sound.


	2. like a thief in the night

He stumbled out of the tent as Yusuf pushed him forward.  
Of course, it had to look real, he told himself, but he was sure the warrior had put much of his anger into the blows he had dealt him before driving him back to the damn pine tree.  
The broken ribs were already rejoining, the nasal bone had long since been put back in place, yet the blows still hurt a lot more than he cared to.   
After the first blows, which he endured defencelessly in shackles, he quickly recovered and asked the Saracen what he was trying to achieve.   
"The wounds will close," was Yusuf's grim reply, "but the blood will stay."  
In the frightened looks of the warriors, Nicolo could now read that Yusuf must have been in charge of all the work.   
But he was hit the hardest by the desperate look in Bassem's eyes when the warrior dragged him back to the grove by his blood-stained hair.  
A brutal kick by the Saracen in front of his thighs made Nicolo break his knees with a hoarse gasp. His painful cry, as Yusuf once again tied him upright on his knees to the rough trunk of the tree, was indeed equal to the torment the Saracen inflicted on him.  
After the warrior, full of pride, looked at him self-satisfied once more, another punch in the crusader's face gave him a merciful unconsciousness.

Hours later he awoke trembling with cold. He froze miserably at the end of the night. The fire that the guards kept burning was so far away from him that its warmth could not reach him.   
To the east, a pale, reddish glow appeared on the horizon. The morning was already dawning.  
Had he spent the whole night unconscious? Nicolo blinked strained and sighed silently. Today the ordeal of the past days would begin again.   
Sunrise, scorching heat without any shade, gnawing hunger and the damned, murderous thirst that reached for him, weakened him, caused hallucinations and conjured up unbelievable pain. How long would it take? Three days? Four? Yusuf had sworn to make sure he would die faster. Nicolo did not know whether to welcome this promise or despair of it.

A sudden, loud cry tore him away from his dark thoughts, made him look up and strained to peer into the twilight.  
The warriors rose from their sleeping camps with fluid movements, gathered in front of the tent and, amidst loud talk, dragged a vainly defending figure into their midst.  
The tumult lost its volume after Yusuf stepped out of the tent and called the men to order loudly and imperiously.  
Nicolo could see that he approached the much smaller figure and heard him sigh noisily. One of his soft words caught the crusader's attention: Alssariq - thief  
The accused began to speak and Nicolo felt an incredulous bewilderment take hold of him.  
His mind raced feverishly as he realised that it was Bassem who the men must have caught stealing. Damn it, had Yusuf broken his promise and not warned the boy? Had Bassem not heard the appeal? Nicolo stared fearfully at him as the men drove him to the fire in front of the group of trees. Yusuf took a position between the boy and Nicolo in the first bright light of the morning, throwing something at the knight's feet in anger.   
He closed his eyes in despair as the small piece of bread bounced against his knee and the clay bowl shattered into shards.   
"Why?" he whispered in Greek. "Why didn't you warn him?"  
"I warned him!" Yusuf returned roughly, while the warriors stared at him questioningly. None of them knew the language the men were speaking.  
"I told him what would await him if he did not stop helping you, but he was stupid enough to let my men catch him. Now I have no choice but to punish him as I would any other thief."  
Frightened, the boy writhed in his iron grip without the prospect of escape. In the circle of warriors, his grandfather, who had hurried to the scene, stared in complete bewilderment at the scene that presented itself to him.  
Yusuf pressed his jaws together disapprovingly.Even Nicolo could clearly see how much he was reluctant to reprimand Bassem.  
With clear reluctance, he reached for the dagger of one of his men and placed the blade in the embers of the fire, while in one brief movement he tore the tunic from the whimpering boy's body. His guardian was frightened away by a choked sound.  
"No! Wait! What are you doing?" Nicolo straightened up in his restraints as far as he could.  
The warrior looked at him angrily.   
"I don't have to justify myself to you, Christ. The last word he spoke to him full of hatred. "This is all your fault. He steals to help you. whether you want him to or not."  
He pushed the whining Bassem to the ground in front of him, held him down with his knee and pulled the red-hot blade out of the fire.  
"Yusuf, this is a child!" Nicolo's voice almost turned in horror.  
"A thief," the warrior replied curtly.  
"He is not even eight years old!"  
The warrior shook his head low. "He must be grateful that I do not cut off his hand before he receives the blows he is entitled to. He will learn from this not to do it again."  
Nicolo threw himself in vain against the leather straps as Yusuf lowered the blade.  
"Aintazar - wait! Don't do it, Yusuf!"  
The words echoed loud and clear through the camp. Everyone who heard it looked at the captured knight, who now met Yusuf with a clear look.   
A tense silence lay over the men, interrupted only by the boy's plea.  
"I take his guilt upon myself." Nicolo took a deep breath before continuing. "If, as you say, he stole in my name, then theft and punishment are my responsibility, not his."

Inside he raved. That damned fool! Alone for this completely insane demand the mad Christian deserved the whip. What did he think would happen if the warriors saw with their own eyes how the wounds inflicted on him healed in the shortest possible time, leaving not even a small scar?  
Yusuf angrily bit his lips and thanked his god that none of his men were powerful enough to speak Greek.  
"Has the sun taken the last of your sanity?" he reigned over the knight.   
"You cannot bear his punishment, you foolish Christian. Any of these men will see that the Striae disappear after a short time and the wounds inflicted close again. They will take you for a demon or djinni. You don't know what you will do with it."  
"Yusuf", Nicolo repeated insistently. "He is a child. Bassem is only a boy."  
"A boy who steals from soldiers to save a condemned Franconian, who is also our mortal enemy," thundered his counterpart.  
Nicolo took a deep breath and closed his eyes in resignation,  
"Why won't you grant me what I ask of you? Let the men think I'm a demon. It will be the quickest road for me to Antioch."  
Yusuf frowned questioningly, not understanding what the knight was trying to say.  
"Inevitably I will die at your hands. Be it agonisingly slow by dying of thirst, or in some other way. If it really happens as you say, they will want to get rid of me as soon as possible. You said you want to make sure that my death will come faster than usual. So how do you kill a demon here?"


	3. the stony path

He clenched his teeth so tightly that he tasted his own blood, but he didn't care. His world consisted only of raging, unbelievable pain. It drove the air out of his lungs, took his breath and hit him with a tremendous force, while the two warriors held Bassem's hand in an iron grip and forced him to press the red-hot iron relentlessly onto Nicolo's chest.  
Had the warriors not tied him upright between the trunks of two pine trees, he would probably have collapsed completely when he was branded, due to the immense pain alone.  
The coarse ropes around his wrists were too short, however, offering just enough room for him to pant and fall to his knees when it was finally over.  
"Oh, Lord in heaven," it escaped him haltingly.  
None of the warriors said anything, but behind him, Nicolo noticed the boy's desperate crying.  
"Hadha jayid, Bassem - it's all right," he groaned in pain and tried to gather himself to stand up.  
Yusuf stepped into his field of vision, stared at him with a look of regret in which Nicolo could read real compassion.  
"You should stay on your knees and conserve your strength. Trust me, it will make it easier for you."  
Quietly he ordered the crying boy to himself, put an object in his hand. Bassem gasped in shock and Nicolo sensed what was being forced upon him.  
He took a deep breath and gathered himself before he demanded in a firm voice that the boy be sent away.  
"Let him go, Yusuf. He has seen enough."  
The warrior also breathed in noisily. "You have no idea how much I would like to do that, Christian, but that is the law here. He who bears another's punishment receives it from the one who should have felt it."  
The prisoner closed his eyes in depression.  
"Please," Nicolo appealed. "I beg you. Don't burden him with this too. He has learned his lesson."  
Yusuf looked at the prisoner, shaking his head. This man gave him riddles. Not only did he share his apparent immortality with him, he seemed completely different from all the crusaders Yusuf had encountered before. What was it that made him decide to go to a foreign land to help an unknown boy whose language he did not even understand rudimentarily?  
He looked pitifully at the crying child. The boy had done what he thought was right. The Frank had saved his own life at the risk of his own. It was only because of the unfortunate fact that he was clearly from the West that the local warriors had to assume that he was one of the looters. They attacked him, thinking that they had to protect the village and its inhabitants from him.  
The fact that he resisted their attack with his sword, killing several soldiers in the process, was the decisive factor in his now hopeless situation.  
Yusuf cast a questioning glance at his men. If someone voluntarily agreed to take the twenty blows from Bassem, then that would be right.  
"If the boy does it, it will be easier for you than if an adult warrior wields the whip.  
Nicolo nodded melancholically and took another deep breath.  
"I know that and yet ...", his voice faltered. He didn't speak any further, just stared at him pleadingly with those amazing blue eyes.  
Again Yusuf shook his head, took the scourge from the boy's hand and sent him into the arms of his desperate grandfather.  
This Nicolo increasingly amazed him. No, he should not leave him to one of the warriors. Karim was not here, he was in command of the men, he was responsible for what happened in the camp. To delegate the punishment of this amazingly honourable man to a subordinate seemed cowardly to him.

At the fourth stroke, Nicolo felt that the skin of his back could no longer withstand the braided strap. The wounds that Yusuf inflicted on him brought tears to his eyes. The sheer force of the blows pressed the air out of his lungs, making him groan in pain.  
After the seventh blow, he prayed to God to finally allow him to lose his mind, but  
he felt the first welts already healing, while the whip tore new wounds deep into his back each time.

Yusuf clenched his teeth together. This Frank was driving him out of his mind. Not only did he continue to stubbornly insist on taking over the punishment, he was not intimidated by the fact that Yusuf himself would be the one to carry it out.  
Even now, when he was barely conscious after more than half of the blows, he had so much self-control that no sound left his lips.  
Secretly, Yusuf had hoped his men would have realised earlier that the Franconian's wounds would heal within moments, but the prisoner turned his face, not his back, to the semi-circle of warriors.  
Only shortly before the last blow, one of the soldiers shouted that the brand on Nicolo's chest had disappeared. Yusuf thanked his god that this terribly unworthy spectacle would soon come to an end.

He felt someone approaching through dizziness, light-headedness and all the pain.  
With infinite effort, he succeeded in opening the eyelids.  
The armed men flinched timidly from him, although he continued to hang helplessly in the shackles. Bassem and his grandfather stared at him in disbelief. He could not make out Yusuf.  
His whole body shook with pain, yet he felt the last wounds begin to heal.  
Someone moved behind him, grabbed his shoulder lightly and leaned his body carefully, almost gently like a lover, against Nicolo's battered back. A cool hand glided gently across his forehead. It reached into his hair, bent his head back, forcing him to look the warrior in the eyes.  
It was Yusuf who held him. His other hand gently stroked Nicolo's chest.  
"A demon," he whispered in Nicolo's ear, "is killed with a blade of silver."

A deeply astonished sound escaped the crusader as Yusuf plunged the dagger into his heart.  
The prisoner's body cramped up. Tears of pain entered his eyes.  
Yusuf took a deep breath and turned the blade in the wound before pulling back the dagger.  
Nicolo groaned in agony, struggling desperately for what little life he had left. Perhaps the wound would not kill him fast enough, or in the end it would not kill him at all.  
The warrior shook his head unwillingly. This damned Christian seemed so difficult to kill that Yusuf had to respectfully acknowledge his will to survive. He shuddered as all the agony of the ride was reflected in the blue eyes.  
With another shake of his head, he raised the silver blade again and cut Nicolo's throat with a single, clean cut.  
He held the bound body until the last remnant of life was drained from it, then cut the ropes that held it upright and settled down in the squatting position, breathing heavily.

He awoke under a hot sun with pain in his chest and neck. Unquenchable thirst tormented him and he looked around in wonder as he realised that the world around him was moving.  
He was sitting on a horse - on his own horse, but he could not move.  
Someone had tied him to the saddle so he would not fall down.  
A rider caught up with him, cut his bonds without a word and offered him a wooden drinking bottle. Then he took the dark cloth from his face. His companion was Yusuf.  
"As you see, I have kept my word."  
Nicolo nodded in agreement and took a sip of water from the bottle.  
"Yes", he admitted appreciatively, "I hope you will forgive me for not thanking you for the terrible torture I had to endure for this.  
Yusuf snorted disapprovingly.  
"I could have made sure that after the whipping you would still be subjected to days of martyrdom from dehydration."  
"Instead you stabbed me and cut my throat," the knight complained soundlessly.  
"Nothing that we hadn't both done to each other several times before."  
The crusader laughed cheerlessly and nodded. Yusuf did the same and pointed with his right hand to the west.  
"Antioch is still an hour away in that direction. I cannot say that our second meeting has pleased me, but I must admit that you are a man of great honour, Nicolo di Genova. In other circumstances and in another life we could have been great allies".  
The man I spoke to nodded in agreement.  
"I thank you for saving the boy. He would not have survived."  
Yusuf looked down sadly and shook his head affirmatively.  
" I know that what you are doing here can put you in a difficult position, Yusuf Al-Kaysani. You are a good person. Nevertheless, I hope we never see each other again. "  
His counterpart smiled wolfishly and turned his horse to return to his warriors' camp, while Nicolo turned west.  
"I hope so too, Christian! Rihlat saeida - have a good journey!"


End file.
